Let temperance, twankay, teetotallers trump;
Your sad, sober swiggers at “Veritas” pump!
If water flow hither, so crystal and clear,
To mix with our wine—'tis humanity's tear.
When Venus is crusty, and Mars in a miff,
Their tipple is prime nectar-toddy and stiff,—
And shall we not toast, like their godships above,
The lad we esteem, and the lady we love?
Be goblets as sparkling, and spirits as light,
Our next merry meeting! A bumper—good night!